


Always Room for Improvement

by JacquelineHyde



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacquelineHyde/pseuds/JacquelineHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is not naive enough to believe that only unmarried men visit brothels; she suspects that rather more men do than do not. If so, perhaps it is because these places, and the women within, offer something that is absent from many a marriage bed, and Catelyn is determined that it will not be absent from hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Room for Improvement

**Author's Note:**

> For the ASOIAF kinkmeme prompt: _A young Catelyn asks her husband if he has ever visited a brothel, and he admits that he did a few times, while Brandon still lived and he was not yet betrothed. Her reply: "And what did you have your whores do that you have not yet asked of me?" (His response can be as kinky or as tame as you like, but obviously Cat will be awesome at it)_

It is not that Catelyn thinks her husband unsatisfied in their marriage bed that leads her to ask; it is only that the notion of accepting _good enough_ when something more is within her reach has always been wholly nonsensical to her.

She can hardly claim to be an expert in the responses of a man to a woman's touch. Though they share a son who has just seen his first name day, at times she still feels newly a wife, if not in the time they have been wed, then in the time that she has spent with him. But she can sense no trace of dissatisfaction in his breath hot and harsh at her neck as he moves over her and inside her, in his hands tight at her hips when he pulls her on top of him.

But just because he enjoys coming to her bed already, hardly means that he cannot enjoy it _more._

And really, what better source could there be from which to learn what will please a man in bed than a woman who earns her coin doing just that?

She is not naive; she is quite aware that it is not only unmarried men who visit brothels. She suspects that rather more men do than do not.

If so, perhaps it is because these places, and the women within, offer something that is absent from many a marriage bed, and Catelyn is determined that it will not be absent from hers.

But, as the lady of Winterfell really has made the acquaintance of shockingly few whores in her life, there is little opportunity to gain first-hand knowledge, and she will need to find another source of information.

And so, as the rapid beat of Ned's heart begins to slow beneath her cheek and the heat between them fades into a comfortable warmth, before the gentle stroke of his hand through her hair can lull her to sleep, she makes up her mind to seek her answers.

“My lord, if I ask you a question, will you promise to answer truthfully?”

A long silence.

“I will answer if I can, my lady,” he finally replies, and she can hear the wariness in his voice. “I cannot promise without knowing the question.”

She pulls away and meets his gaze.

“Have you ever visited a brothel?”

Evidently, it is not a question he had expected; he starts, and blinks bewildered grey eyes down at her.

“Have I—”

“Visited a brothel," she finishes helpfully, hiding a grin. "Surely you are familiar with the concept."

“I grew up with Robert Baratheon,” Ned reminds her with a sound somewhere between a laugh and a huff. “He is not one to keep a memorable experience to himself, so I am more familiar than I care to remember.”

“And have you never joined him and sought some company for yourself?”

He shifts uneasily, eyeing her as though he expects her at any moment to burst into tears or do him violence, possibly both at once.

"Not often, but I have. Long ago, before I knew we were to marry. When you were still promised to Brandon.”

She is silent for a moment, and when she speaks again, keeps her voice carefully light.

“And what did you have your whores do that you have not yet asked of me?”

He is silent for a much longer moment, and studies her face carefully, as though this conversation is a riddle that he must solve if he wishes to escape alive and whole, and the key lies in deciphering her expression. She sighs inwardly; one of the first things she learned of her husband was his dislike of riddles, almost as strong as her dislike of dressing up her words to obscure their meaning, although she does not know how she could have been clearer.

“I only wish to know what you enjoyed with those girls, because I would have you find the same pleasure in my bed.”

The wariness in his expression softens, and he touches her cheek.

“Do you think that you do not please me, Catelyn?”

She laughs, and rubs her thigh, still damp with his seed, against his leg.

“I would have to be entirely unobservant to fear that. But there is always room for improvement, is there not? Now, will you tell me, or shall I begin naming every debauched act I have heard that men enjoy in the bedchamber until I guess correctly?”

“I fear you may be disappointed,” he warns with a nearly sheepish smile. “The most unusual thing I asked of the women I visited was to, ah, relieve me by mouth.”

It is not all that surprising, but she cannot quite fight a trace of scepticism, and regards him with a raised eyebrow.

“Truly, Ned?”

He frowns, clearly annoyed.

“What would you have had me ask of a woman I had never spoken with before? Aye, that is all. Unless you wish to hear of the time that Robert insisted we bed a girl together. It was his idea,” he hastens to reiterate before she can react, and she finds herself oddly warmed when his arms tighten around her. “And I do not mean to share you, with any man.”

She hums unconcernedly, pulling away to trail warm, wet kisses down his chest.

“I suppose I shall have to content myself with the other, then.”

Pushing away the thin blanket (all he can bear when he stays in her rooms, and all she needs when he is there to warm her), she moves down the bed to kneel over him, and takes his cock with a firm grip and, despite how little coaxing it takes before he begins to harden against her palm, far more confidence than she feels.

Someone (her lord husband's own brother, though she tries not to think much on that) once told her that nothing a girl can do with a man's cock, short of biting it clean off, will fail to please him, but Brandon himself had seemed more amused - though not unkindly so - than lost to pleasure the one time she had done this for him.

But, she notes with some relief, _amused_ is not quite the word she would use to describe her husband's reaction when she leans in close and brushes light kisses over the head. He inhales sharply, one hand coming to rest lightly at her hair.

Encouraged, she traces up and down his length, following the same path with quick, teasing licks, uncertain if the heat flaring low in her belly is caused by his groan as her tongue swipes over the tip, or by the scent and taste of him, of them together.

Both of Ned's hands are in her hair now, sifting through the heavy mass, draping it over both of them like a cloak as her mouth slides down around him, her thumbs stroking over his hipbones.

She can feel the slight tremble in his thighs, his effort to hold still, to not thrust up into her mouth, and it is strange, how much more she appreciates this careful handling with her when there is no way that she can mistake it for a lack of desire. Her eyes dart briefly upwards, and when she meets his gaze, the need she finds there leaves absolutely no room to wonder who he might be thinking of as he goes about his duty with her. He is murmuring her name amid endearments and encouragements in terms that should leave her horrified, but merely leave her wet and aching with need. Just as she is about to give in and slip one hand between her legs, he cups her cheek.

“Catelyn,” he calls, imploring. “Come here.”

Eagerly, she climbs back up the bed, moves to throw one leg over his, and hesitates, uncertain, when his hands land at her hips and pull her further up until she is sitting back against his chest. His mouth is inches from her sex, and a breathless moan escapes her as he leans forward, pulls her to him, and inhales deeply, then presses a soft kiss there.

“If you turn around,” he begins hesitantly, catching her eye, “we could both...”

It takes a few puzzled seconds for his meaning to dawn on her, but once it does, she scrambles to turn, quite certain that she has just narrowly escaped breaking his nose with her knee.

Settling on hands and knees over him, she reaches for his cock much more confidently now, and more confidently still with each sigh and sound of wordless encouragement he muffles against her thigh as her hands and lips move over him.

She has just begun to congratulate herself on so thoroughly distracting her husband, when his hands tighten at her hips, tugging her abruptly closer. Her yelp of surprise turns swiftly into a cry of pleasure, his name murmured pleadingly into the sweat-dampened skin of his belly, as he parts her with gentle fingers and buries his mouth in her cunt.

This is not entirely new to her; she learned some time ago, with no small delight, that he seems to enjoy it, does not seem to grow tired of teasing her into a state of desperation, until she drags him back up and half-begs, half-orders him to take her.

But ordinarily, he will push her gently to her back, spread beneath him, able to move against his hands and mouth only so much as he will permit before he holds her still.

Kneeling over him like this, the sensation seems somehow sharper, and she can move against him as she wishes, show him where she needs him. And when she returns her attention to where he needs her, his rapid breath gusts warm over her sensitive flesh, and her answering moan around his cock makes his hand tighten at her thigh, almost pain but just now exactly what she wants.

She is dimly aware that she is grinding her hips against him, that she is not exactly repaying in kind the careful attention that he has paid to her comfort, but when she tries to pull away, his arms wind around both her legs, pulling her close again. As his tongue swipes once more through her folds and then presses in firm, steady circles over the most sensitive part of her, she can feel herself tensing, the knot of pleasure tightening and burning fierce and hot. The movement of her hands and lips and tongue grow erratic, unsteady, but clearly it does not displease him, as his hips buck beneath her, and a salty, bitter warmth floods her mouth in time with his sharp cry.

Wiping her mouth around a fond smile, she brushes soft, gentle kisses over his belly, and then his mouth is on her again, fingers thrusting and twisting inside her, and almost at once, so quickly that she might be embarrassed if there were room in her mind for anything but the heady bliss of his touch, she is shuddering helplessly, his name almost a sob, collapsing limply on top of him. His hand strokes soothingly over her hip for a long moment, and at his soft chuckle, she climbs reluctantly off of him, turns and settles comfortably against his shoulder.

When she looks up to find him watching her, expression happily dazed, she laughs.

“Are you well, Ned?”

“Yes, very well,” he replies, looking surprised at the question, and she laughs again. “I am merely asking myself why we have not done that before.”

“You never asked,” she explains with a shrug, nevertheless watching him carefully. “ _Why_ have you never asked?”

“I thought that you might prefer to...do only what might bring a child.”

“Do _you_ wish to do only what might bring a child?”

“No, my lady. Another babe can only be a fine thing, but...I confess, I would like to do _that_ again, soon.”

“As would I,” she admits, her cheek warm against his chest.

They fall silent for a contented moment, before she feels him shift slightly to watch her.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I am still curious: what are all of these debauched acts that you have heard of?”

“Did you not remind me that you grew up with Robert Baratheon?” she asks teasingly. “I highly doubt you will discover anything new.”

“Perhaps not, but I would not take that risk,” he tells her very solemnly, before a small, shy smile creeps over his face. “And I imagine that such things would sound far sweeter in your voice.”


End file.
